


The Red Lion

by peachii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Matt and Shiro's relationship, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tags to be added, Threesome - M/M/M, cafe setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachii/pseuds/peachii
Summary: When she speaks, her voice is somehow both soft and stern.  “Listen closely, because I will only say this once, Mister Kogane.  The Red Lion is a place for people who have left behind the past, just as yourself.  But it is also a place for people who have not let the past define them.  Do you understand?”“I…I think so,” Keith says, gingerly.He doesn’t.Keith is hired at a small-town café, but gets a lot more than he bargained for.





	The Red Lion

**Author's Note:**

> written mainly to indulge my filthy multi-shipper cravings.

When Keith was a child, he dreamt of becoming an astronaut.  He was fascinated by the star-speckled universe, and the lonely moon that would follow him home on late-night car rides.

_Is it possible to be homesick of a place you’ve never been?_

He often asked this question.

“Everyone has a little bit of stardust in them,” his mother would answer, tucking an unruly tendril of black hair behind his ear before leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead.  “It ties us to the universe.  That, Keith, is why you feel homesick when you look up at the stars.”  

When she died, his dream of being an astronaut did not.

Of course, he no longer wanted to explore the stars out of juvenile passion.

He just wanted an escape.

 

 

_____

 

_It’s fucking cold._

This is the first thing that enter’s Keith’s mind as he steps outside of his apartment and braces the unforgiving morning air.

He grits his teeth in a poor attempt to keep them from chattering, then trudges down the winding stairs leading up to his current (and mildly pathetic) place of residence.  

He’s just about to ask himself why any sane person would willingly get up at 5am on a Saturday, but then he see’s a particularly jovial-looking man twice his size standing at the bottom of the creaky stair-case.  

When he notices Keith, his pleasantly round features dip into a blinding smile.    

If looks could revive the dead…

“Keith!” He exclaims, and Keith winces.

“Hunk,” he greets, sounding a little less enthusiastic but still maintaining a certain degree of politeness in his voice.

Hunk grins, and for a split second Keith expects the darker-toned man to gather him into a bear hug — that is, until he notices that he’s clutching two coffee cups in both hands.

“You look awful,” Hunk notes cheerily, extending one of the cups towards him.  “Here, drink.  You’re not going to get a job with ‘I wish for the sweet embrace of death’ written on your face.”  

“Maybe they shouldn’t have scheduled the interview for 5:30 in the morning, then,” he retorts, accepting the coffee and taking a miserable sip.  It’s black, and bitter, and wonderful.  

He exhales tangible breath afterwards, silently thanking the caffeine Gods.

Hunk is an angel, he decides.  Even if he is a morning person.

Hunk just laughs.  It’s a beautiful sound, one that seems to warm the frigid air and Keith’s very core.  Perhaps that’s the coffee traveling down into his stomach, though.  “It’s a café, what did you expect?”

It’s hard to believe he met Hunk just four days ago.  The big guy acts like they’ve lived in the same apartment complex together for years in a well-aged platonic relationship.   

Keith wants to call him a friend.  

But he’s wary.  

Suspicious.

_Why would anyone want to be your friend?_

He tries to ignore the scornful voice creeping into his thoughts.  Tries, and fails.

“I don’t know, an interview that isn’t at the crack of dawn?” Keith suggests, shrugging his shoulders.  He kisses the rim of his coffee cup and takes another greedy sip, eyebrows knit together as the hot liquid swims down his throat.  Something clicks in his head, and he lowers the cup.  “Did you…get us coffee?”

“Yup,” Hunk confirms, smile not wavering.

“When we’re going to a café?”

Hunk opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning.  “Huh…I guess I didn’t really think about it.”  

The frown is erased from his plump lips just as quickly as it appears.  He pats Keith’s back, but it feels more like a slap that sends him stumbling a few feet forward.  

Keith nearly drops the cup, fumbling for a moment.  

“Eh, whatever.  You look like you needed something to wake up those dark circles.”

Keith presses his finger below his eye.  “Dark circles?” He echoes, not surprised but suddenly paranoid.  Maybe he should have asked for concealer from the overly cheery girl in 2B, she might —

“Relax, man,” Hunk chuckles, patting his back again and tearing him from his panicked thoughts.  “It’s a café— the employees wear eye-bags like an accessory.  You’ll fit right in.”  

Keith isn’t convinced, but he presses his lips together and nods his head.

“You don’t talk much,” Hunk goes on to note.  There’s the beginning of a smirk tugging at his lips.  “Lance is going to do a number on you.”  

Keith cocks a curious and slightly concerned brow — why does that name sound so familiar? — but Hunk is already dragging him out of the apartment complex before he can ask any questions.

 

 

________

 

The cafe is a short-walk from his apartment, making it an easy venture for someone without a car or bike to get around.  It’s nestled between a boutique and a bookstore, amongst an assortment of other old but curious shops of muted pastel hues.

There are pots blooming with yellow and pink flowers outside the bright red front-door, and ivy crawls up the side of the building, suggesting years of freedom to grow and climb as it pleases.  

It’s refreshing, in a modest sort of way.

It’s not the kind of place Keith imagined himself working at when he moved out on his own, if he’s being completely honest — but then again, he didn’t think he would actually make it this far, either.

“Cute, isn’t it?”  

He cranes his head up to look at Hunk, and nods.  “It’s certainly…a café.”  

Hunk laughs, and Keith can’t help but feel like he’s deceiving the big guy.  He wasn’t trying to be funny.  

“Might look like it now, but it attracts more than the just the contemporary crowd.  You should see it on Friday and Saturday nights.”

Once again, Keith finds himself wondering just what Hunk means by that, but he isn’t given the chance to question it before he’s being ushered through the front door.

The first thing he notices is that it isn’t open yet.  This much would make sense, considering it’s 5:30 in the morning and most rational individuals are still tucked in their beds.  

The first rays of early sunlight paint the chairs atop rounded oak tables and capture every fragment in the air.  One wall is plastered with photos and polaroid pictures — his eyes barely graze them, before they land on the opposing wall, which is littered with signs with dull-humored sayings like “Lost children will be given a puppy and espresso”.  

There is a small, high-rise platform to the left.  It looks a little worn for wear, and he begins to wonder what exactly it’s used for.

“Allura should be in the office,” Hunk says, extending a finger down a narrow hallway with a ‘RESTROOMS’ sign overhead.  “First door to the left, just before the restrooms.”  He gives him a thumbs up and a toothy grin afterwards.  “Good luck.”  

Keith pales a little.  He gulps, then nods, partially wishing Hunk would accompany him inside.  Instead, he heads for the exit, giving him a final wave before he departs.

Keith takes a final gulp of his coffee and locates a trash can.  He wanders down the hallway, pausing in front of a dingy-looking door on the left.  He studies the doorknob for a moment, takes a deep breath, then opens it.

There is a girl sitting at the desk.  She seems to startle upon his entrance, but quickly smooths out her posture.  

The first thing he notices is that she’s small.  Like, really small.  She has a head of short, wildly unkept chestnut hair, and large brown eyes hidden behind a pair of large-framed glasses.  

He’s pretty sure those are dark circles being hindered by the glare of her frames.

_Guess Hunk wasn’t kidding._

She looks like she’s fourteen or fifteen, but then again, Keith never was any good at guessing people’s age.  She could be in her twenties for all he knew.

She’s wearing an oversized green sweater and baggy cargo pants.  It’s sort of cute, but not exactly business attire.  Maybe that was normal in a small-town cafe?

“Uhh…are you Allura?” Keith asks, tone probably a bit too dubious, because her bushy eyebrows immediately knit together.

A flicker passes her gaze, and she straightens, clearing her throat.  “Of course I am.  And you must be…” She casts her eyes downwards, sifting through a few papers on the desk before lifting one up.  His resume, probably.  “Keith, is it?”  

He nods.

“Take a seat, Keith.”  

He sits.

“So,” the supposed-Allura sets his resume down then clasps her hands together, studying him through her owl-like frames.  “What makes you think you’re good enough to work at The Red Lion?”

Keith feels his mouth go dry.  Hunk said Allura was daunting, but he wasn’t expecting the interview to start off so bluntly.

He doesn’t consider the name of the cafe, which Hunk had forgotten to mention.  He doesn’t ask himself why it sounds so painstakingly familiar, either, too caught up in those round and challenging eyes watching him like a hawk.  Owl?  

“I…”  Keith purses his lips nervously, trying not to fidget in his seat.  Who knew being stared down by a girl half his size could be so unnerving.  “I’m a hard-worker?” he tries.  “And I like coffee.  So I figured a café wouldn’t be a bad place to, uh, work.”  

Not his best response in an interview, but certainly not his worst, either.  

The smaller girl hums, then gathers up the scattered papers on the desk and stacks them together.  He’s not really sure why she does it, but he doesn’t dare question it.  

“Well, I think I’ve heard enough.”  She looks up, eyes narrowed.  Keith holds his breath.  “You’re fired.”

It takes a moment to process that.  He deflates, then goes wide-eyed, jaw practically hanging open in bewilderment.  “Wait — what?  But you never even hired m—”

The door knob turns, and the most beautiful woman Keith has ever laid eyes on moves through the door frame.  “Pidge, have you finished those num—”  She falls silent, hand still on the door knob as she looks upon the scene with a narrowed and questioning gaze.

She is dark-skinned, even more so than Hunk, with flushed cheeks and plump lips.  White hair cascades over her shoulders like snowfall, going in any and every direction it pleases.  There are many small, intricate braids amongst the loose waves, an effortless look that probably took ages to accomplish.

Her eyes are what truly stand out to him, however; her irises carry different fragments of blue, reminding him of a blustery sea, with a dash of violet against her pupil — like a sunrise just before the storm.  

Jesus, if Keith wasn’t gay…

“What is going on here?” She demands, voice crisp with a British accent.

“Uh,” Pidge says.

“Uh,” Keith concludes.  

Allura’s eyes narrow, and she pinches the bridge of her nose.  “Out, Pidge.  Now.  We will discuss this later.”  

The imposter quickly gets to her feet and skitters past her out the door.  

The taller woman takes a seat once she is gone, withdrawing a sigh as she leans into her chair.  

“Please forgive Pidge,” she says.  “She’s harmless.  Just enjoys giving me one too many grey hairs.”

But it’s already white, he thinks, but doesn’t dare say.

“Pidge?” Keith repeats.  “Is..that her name?”

She nods.  “Her real name is Katie.  But she hasn’t gone by that since—”  She stops herself, then clears her throat.  “Never mind that.  I presume you are Keith?”

He nods, slowly.  “Yes, m’am.  Keith Kogane.”  

She seems irritated by the usage of ‘ma’am’, but doesn’t say anything.  

He makes a mental note to not call her ‘ma’am’ again.

“Nice to meet you, Keith.  I’m Allura, contrary to what Pidge may have led you to believe.”

She doesn’t fish out his resume.  Instead, she leans forward, prismatic eyes locked on his sterling grey ones.  “Tell me, Keith.  Why do you want to work for The Red Lion?”

It is only now the cafe’s name stands out to him.  He finds himself frowning on it, unable to place why his heart somehow aches upon its mention.  

He racks his mind for a response amidst the sudden cloud of nostalgia, but there is something about being stared down by a beautiful woman that makes his brain momentarily shut down.

“Uh.  I need money?”

She isn’t impressed.  Her eyes narrow, only this time they look bored.  It’s familiar — and he hates that.

“Is that all you have to say?  Because if so, the door is right behind you.”

“W-Wait,” he blurts.  “Th-that’s…I meant…”  

He stops.  

Inhales.  

Exhales.  

All the while Allura studies him, lips pressed together in a firm line.

“I’m on my own.   But now I have a chance to start fresh, and put the past behind me.  Hunk…he told me I can do that here.”

Allura is silent for a few heartbeats.  Keith waits for her to excuse him, but she never does.  Instead, she nods — a slow and thoughtful motion.  

When she speaks, her voice is somehow both soft and stern.  “Listen closely, because I will only say this once, Mister Kogane.  The Red Lion is a place for people who have left behind the past, just as yourself.  But it is also a place for people who have not let the past define them.  Do you understand?”

“I…I think so,” Keith says, gingerly.  

He doesn’t.  

“We are a café,” she continues, “But more than that, we are a family.  I don’t intend to hire just anybody.”

His heart sinks.  He opens his mouth, if only to thank her for the opportunity before taking his leave, but Allura beats him to the punch.

“I expect to see you here on Monday morning, 7 am sharp.”  

Keith blinks, slowly.  

His eyes go wide with bewilderment.  “What?”

Allura plants her elbows on the desk and folds her hands together, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s hiding a smirk.  “You should come by tonight.  Lance is performing, and you can get a feel of the atmosphere at night.”

Keith is still trying to process her words as he gets to his feet.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he manages to stammer out, before hurriedly exiting the office — afraid if he stays any longer, she might change her mind.

“7 am!”  She shouts after him.  “Not a minute late!”  

 

 

_____

 

The street is lined with cars, and as he walks down the sidewalk he counts bumper-stickers rather than weeds amongst the cement cracks.

The first thing he notes when he reaches the building is the loud roar of music and lingering bodies outside.  A small group of teenagers are chatting outside the door, most of which are also smoking and taking the occasional drag as they laugh.  

Keith avoids their eyes as he passes through the door, but he is instantly welcomed by a far larger sum of people once inside.   

For being such a small coffee shop, it’s brimming with life.

_Hunk wasn’t lying when he said the café attracted more than just the contemporary crowd._

Keith has never been good with big crowds.  He’s debating making a bee-line for the exit when the sound of someone tapping on a microphone stunts the noisy crowd around him.

Everyone quiets, except for a few highly-caffeinated girls making their way towards the risen platform.

Allura is on stage.  Her eyes scan the crowd before landing on Keith.  A small but pleased smile carves into her crimson-painted lips.  “Thank you all for coming tonight,” she says.  “As usual, please give Lance a warm welcome.”

And they do.  God, they do.  The two girls up front shriek gleefully, and one nearly spills her coffee as she bounces up and down.  He can’t tell if she’s doing it to get a better glimpse of Lance or because she’s pumped with four extra shots of espresso.    

Maybe both?

Keith cranes his head to glimpse a dark-skinned boy with a guitar slung over his shoulder making his way on the mini stage.  He stops in front of the microphone and flashes the crowd a gorgeous grin.  “How’s everyone doin’ tonight?”

 _Better now,_ Keith thinks, despite the sudden irritation that pricks at his insides as he gazes up at the handsome stranger.  

Maybe stranger isn’t the right word, though.

The guy looks insanely familiar, but not in a ‘we met during a chance encounter and have finally intertwined in a small town’ type of way.

No, it’s more like Keith recognizes that face and can’t tell whether he wants to kiss it with his lips or his fist.  

His legs are long, matching his lanky but somehow elegant proportions, and he is wearing skinny jeans and a T-shirt with some obscure band name on the front that Keith doesn’t recognize.  

Perhaps what sticks out about the most to him, however, is the jean jacket that he sports.  It’s one size too large, but somehow it doesn’t swallow him in the denim fabric so much as compliment his broadened shoulders and bring even more positive attention to his spindly limbs.

When he turns away from the crowd to retrieve his guitar, he reveals an earful of different piercings.  They are all black -- even the helix piercings that follow the curve of his upper-ears.  Keith finds this intriguing, because if he is being completely honest, the boy doesn’t exactly scream ‘punk’.  But maybe that’s why his appearance is so striking — he contradicts himself.

His blue eyes settle on the restless crowd, and he grins again, only this time it looks much more natural and not so practiced.  It suits him.  

He looks comfortable on stage, amongst a sea of caffeine-fanatics.

 _Like the moon,_ Keith thinks, _swimming in a sky full of stars._

Keith wonders what kind of life a person must lead, for this to come naturally to them.

Perhaps some people are born with it.

Perhaps Lance is one of those people.  

Keith wants to leave.  He doesn’t belong here, and the longer he stays the more convinced he is that Allura made a mistake by hiring him to begin with.

But he doesn’t.  He’s too entrapped by the beautiful boy who has begun to strum his guitar on stage, and the gentle buzz of the crowd as they hold their breath in anticipation for what may follow.

“I’m gonna start off tonight a little different than usual,” Lance says once he has finished warming up.  He holds the guitar against him like it is something precious, tentatively running a finger over the fine oak interior.  

He pauses, and for a heartbeat he almost looks nervous.

Almost.

“This is an original song.”  He looks up, and his eyes scan the crowd.  They seem to find what they were searching for, because his smile softens, and the uncertain flicker in his expression melts away.  “And I’m dedicating it to someone who used to be my whole world — who is only a small part of my world now.”   

He takes another breath, then begins to play.

It’s a somber note, but on Lance’s tongue it sounds like a Summer song, written for Winter.

 

_Do you remember_

_That blue October_

_When you told me I was the only one for you?_

_I would take your hand in mine_

_As you said you loved my smile, in rain or shine_

_But now I know this was never really true_

 

He looks up after two verses, and his brilliant indigo eyes are swimming with warmth now.  Keith finds this strange, until Lance begins the third verse of the song.  He strums the guitar with a different, more blithe sort of fervor now.   

And it’s beautiful.

  


_But loving you was like loving a painter_

_Whose canvas had become that of a stranger_

_And I knew you were gone_

_When you started to paint it with bruises_

_So this, my dear, is our farewell song_

  


He plays a few more songs after that, most of which are the covers of songs he’s never heard before.  He even sings one in Spanish, which the crowd seems to eat up.

Once he has finished his second encore of the night, Keith manages to drag his eyes away from the dark-skinned boy.  He makes his way over to the counter, deciding if he’s going to hang around a café, he might as well order something to take his mind off golden-boy.

“Keith, right?”  The barista gives him a smile, and he blinks in surprise.

“Girl from 2B?” he blurts.  It just comes out.  He wants to apologize, but she begins to giggle.

“You can call me Shay.  What can I get for you?”

Coffee, he tells her, black.  She thinks he’s joking at first, but eventually obliges when he gives her an expectant look and turns down her offer of cream and sugar.

“Hunk said you are starting on Monday,” she continues as she passes a steaming mug over the counter towards him, “is this true?”

He nods, and pays.  “It seems to be that way,” he says a bit sheepishly.  He warms his hands on the mug, but decides against burning his tongue straight away.   

She smiles, and it makes little crinkles under her eyes.  It’s cute.  “How exciting.  Have you met the boss yet?”

Another nod.  “Allura is really nice.”   _Mildly terrifying, but nice._

Shay gives him a look at that.  “Allura?  She’s our manager, but not the owner.”

Keith frowns, tilting his head to the side.  “Is there...someone else?”

She open her mouth, but a familiar voice cuts her off before she can answer.

“ _Keith Kogane_.”

Keith startles upon the mention of his name.  He turns, slowly, feeling himself go rigid with bewilderment as Lance stalks towards him with narrowed eyes and his lip curled.  He jabs a thumb accusingly at the dark-haired boy, who proceeds to look around and blink rapidly.  

“Uh...are you talking to me?”   _Clearly, dumbass.  He just said your name._

“Yes, I’m talking to _you_ ,” Lance hisses, stopping a few feet away from Keith.  “When they said they hired a Keith, I had my suspicions.  And here you are.”  The scowl is replaced by a smug grin, though it’s not much of an improvement.  “As your rival, I’m flattered, but as head honcho around here, it’s not gonna fly, amigo.”  

Keith hears Shay sigh from behind the counter.  “Lance, leave the poor boy alone.”  

Knuckles, he decides.  Definitely the knuckles he wants to kiss the guy’s face with.

“Do I...know you?” he tries for, blatantly exasperated as the singer’s glare hardens.  One could say he even looked offended by the query.  

“You’re kidding, right?  It’s _Lance_ .  Lance _Mcclain_. We went to highschool together!  We were rivals - y’know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck?”  

He looks like he wants to keep going, but then Lance looks up, and his face instantly brightens and Keith is forgotten.

“Shiro!”

The name turns Keith’s blood to ice.

Lance bounces past him in one fluid motion, and Keith turns to follow his movements.

The singer opens his arms and barrels into the approaching party; a much taller, broader man with a sharp jawline and warm eyes that seem to glitter as he returns Lance’s hug.

He’s not a stranger.  Not even a familiar face in the crowd.  He’s so much more than that, and it steals the breath from Keith's lungs and leaves him with an aching pain in his chest so great Keith is convinced there is a garden of thorny roses blooming where his heart should be.

“That’s our boss,” he hears Shay tell him, but Keith doesn’t move.  He can’t.  It’s like his legs are rooted and the world is spinning and all the voices and colors are suddenly a blur of forgotten fragments.  

And as he meets the eyes of his childhood friend, his childhood love, Keith can’t help but hate the stars for grounding him.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> i went into this without a beta, so apologies for any mistakes that may have come about.  
> until next time, y'all.
> 
> scream with or at me @:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/peachii_keef)  
> [tumblr](http://peachiikeenteen.tumblr.com)  
> 


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